


Trust Me

by McVetty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, unnecessary violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McVetty/pseuds/McVetty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Argents discovered Derek's weakness, and they have no moral code to stop them from exploiting it.</p><p>(Now with bonus comfort chapter!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am a demented and tortured soul. I might make this kind of thing a habit. Sorry not sorry.

“Stiles, close your eyes,” Derek commanded quickly, a raspy desperation to his voice.

Stiles’ head tilted to the side, lips parted, eyes hazy and far away. “What?” he asked thickly, through the blood on his lips.

Derek cursed the chains around his chest, the cuffs around his ankles and his wrists. Even more, he cursed his broken ribs that healed, and Stiles’ broken ribs that had not. He cursed the Argents, he cursed Scott for his blind trust, he cursed himself for ever bringing Stiles into this. Stiles, who was tied as securely as himself to a pole, mere inches away, so close and so far, exactly how the Argents knew would hurt. How they found out, Derek would never know, but he hated himself for not stopping it sooner. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Stiles, don’t ask questions, just close your eyes.”

Stiles looked at him, fear growing there, in the amber. “Derek…”

“Please, Stiles,” Derek pleaded, his voice a low whine.

Stiles closed his eyes obediently, shuddering a painful sigh.

Derek’s gaze went to the Argent standing behind Stiles, framed in the doorway, a heavy blade in his hands. Contrary to popular belief, Derek Hale knew fear, and he felt it grip him then, digging cold claws into his heart and scratching through his belly. He leaned his forehead against Stiles, breathing heavily, angry and desperate for the extra inch, to kiss Stiles and let him know it was okay, that they were going to be okay, but it wasn’t and the thin fingers gripping his heart squeezed tighter.

“Don’t open your eyes,” Derek whispered feverishly. 

“I trust you.”

Stiles’ words stung, ripped through Derek like a knife. “No you don’t,” he said with a bitter laugh.

“Sometimes,” Stiles answered quietly. “Like now.”

“You stupid, impossible brat,” Derek sighed, and the bitter tang of guilt slips in with the fear. It’s a horrible combination. His eyes catch movement, and he presses his forehead to Stiles’ as hard as he can, straining against the chains as they bit into him, drawing blood, but he didn’t care. “Keep trusting me,” he said quietly, closing his own eyes against the inevitable.

A thin whistle sliced through the air, and Stiles gasped. Warmth flecked across Derek’s lips and the familiar taste of Stiles’ blood dripped onto his tongue. He didn’t open his eyes, he tried to breathe steadily, but his lungs wouldn’t work. They were empty and hollow, and he couldn’t get air. Stiles went limp, the life leaving his body, and a metallic scrape echoed off the bare stone walls.

When Derek opened his eyes, they were red with rage, directed to the Argent standing in front of him. He tried not to look at Stiles, the empty expression on his face, or the gaping, bloody wound in his chest. He tried, but the image stayed with him. A cold rage built in his chest, beating out the fear, stretching off his guilt.

“I’m going to make you sorry you didn’t kill me first,” Derek snarled, baring his fangs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little comfort for your hurt, in case you were in to that sort of thing.

When Derek wakes, it is with blood in his mouth and panic in his chest. He sits upright, hands flying out to the space next to him, and someone warm receives a frantic and hard hand-to-the-face. There is a loud, somewhat strangled yelp and much flailing of limbs before the warm body extracts itself from the covers and peers angrily at Derek, liquid amber eyes cloudy with sleep. Derek’s heartbeat slows, pitter-pattering back into normalcy, but the copper in his mouth refuses to leave.

“Do I really have to ask why you just smacked me in the face?” Stiles questions as he rubs sleep from his eyes with a hand he freed from the blankets.

Derek is thankful for the dim light and Stiles’ poor night vision. He clears his throat, trying to buy himself time to reply without fear of his voice shattering. Blood dribbles over his tongue, and he helps it down with a disgusted swallow. Somewhere between the nightmare and waking, he’d done a fair number to his mouth and it was taking its merry time to close up. He doesn’t realized how much he’s stalling until Stiles waves a hand in his face.

“Earth to Derek, come in Derek,” Stiles intones.

“Just a dream,” he replies roughly.

“Should I be glad you didn’t claw me instead, then, oh big and bad wolf?” 

Derek sets his jaw against the crushing near-reality of the nightmare and nods once.

Stiles struggles through the blankets to snuggle against Derek’s bare chest, rubbing his face on exposed flesh and closing his eyes. “Don’t worry, Little Red Riding Hood will protect you from the bad dreams.”

Derek snorts, running a hand absently over Stiles’ buzzed hair.

“Don’t laugh,” Stiles insists. “I’ve saved your hide more times than I care to count.” 

Derek licks his lips, the taste of copper vanishing as the hole in his tongue heals. He lays back down, and Stiles curls up against him, head on his chest. Derek pets Stiles, closing his eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of their breathing. After what seems like a lifetime, sleep gently rocks him into its warm embrace.


End file.
